


The Nice and Accurate (and Numerous) First Times of the Rest of Their Lives

by Nayeliq1



Series: The Nice and Accurate (and Eternal) Rest of Their Lives [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AND HERE WE GO, And angst, Attempt, Attempt at Humor, Ducks, Fluff, Happy moments - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I apologise for this, I had the image of their child in my head, It Wasn't Planned, M/M, and one thing followed the next, because of course there are, but always leading to more fluff, flustered crowley, it just sort of suddenly existed, just a summary of scenes through their relationship really, like lots of fluff, more or less collected Aziraphale, proposal, sorta - Freeform, yes I'm a sucker for fluff don't judge me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24554287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nayeliq1/pseuds/Nayeliq1
Summary: The first time they touched had been on a Garden wall just a few days after the world had begun. The first time they touched on purpose was against a bookshop wall a few days after the world had not ended and their world had begun. It was no longer tempting and blessing and only meeting in secret, always on guard and hoping that no one would notice. Now it was dining at their favourite restaurants, rides in the Bentley just for fun and long hours of reading (or sleeping, in Crowley's case) at the bookshop. It was talking and laughing and smiling and just being. It was about nothing but being together.Old ways of being together, and new ones, too...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Nice and Accurate (and Eternal) Rest of Their Lives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774690
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	The Nice and Accurate (and Numerous) First Times of the Rest of Their Lives

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, this was NOT planned but now it's there so I hope someone will enjoy it. That's all, really. Thanks for stopping by and reading.  
> It's a continuation of the first part of this series, but could be read separately, I suppose...
> 
> Oh and yesss...the child that was the reason for writing this doesn't actually make an appearance yet in this one. But maybe see it positive? That means there's one more part to come...
> 
> Once again, thanks to my friend (she will know who I mean) and my cousin for reading all the stuff beforehand, often out of order and in several drafts, for looking for typos and such (I couldn't proofread on a screen if my life depended on it) and encouraging me to keep going with their far too kind and lovely comments.

The first time they kissed had been one of many first times that day.

The first time they didn't need alcohol to feel dizzy, the first time Crowley stayed at the angel's bookshop for the night, the first time they held each other, the first time the angel watched the demon in his sleep (fascinated and totally lost in the image, the open display of vulnerability that made it seem somewhat more intimate than even their kisses), the first time they woke up to the comforting warmth of a body next to theirs and the morning sun on their faces.

The first time they both said I love you was just that morning. It was also the first time Azirapahle realized that _angel_ was a term of endearment rather than a way to create distance. Still, it sounded even nicer with a _my_ put in front of it.

o~o~o

The first time they touched had been on a Garden wall just a few days after the world had begun. The first time they touched on purpose was against a bookshop wall a few days after the world had not ended and _their world_ had begun. It was no longer tempting and blessing and only meeting in secret, always on guard and hoping that no one would notice. Now it was dining at their favourite restaurants, rides in the Bentley just for fun and long hours of reading (or sleeping, in Crowley's case) at the bookshop. It was talking and laughing and smiling and just _being_. It was about nothing but being together.

Old ways of being together, and new ones, too.

That night after the confession, they lay snuggled up in Aziraphale's bed in the apartment over the bookshop. It had far too many pillows for Crowley's liking, but the plushy things in tartan or horribly old-fashioned lace beading were practically screaming _angel_ (and smelling of him, too..) and he couldn't suppress a little smile. They lay there until the moon was high in the dark of night outside the window, talking about everything and nothing, touching in a million tiny comforting ways that felt both new and unfamiliar but impossibly _right_.  
A hand absentmindedly stroking an arm. Fingers tangling in messy strands of hair. The back of a finger stroking flushed cheeks. Light kisses on lips that were forming a smile.

The love and happiness that flooded out of Crowley the whole time didn't seem to want to run dry very soon, and Aziraphale soaked it all in like cool water in a desert, adding it to his own overflowing heart.

They touched, constantly, affectionately, but nothing more. No one thought about anything more. Not because they would _never_ have thought of it. There was just no need right now.

It wasn't time yet (That might have sounded stupid, considering the six millennia of waiting they'd gone through, but then, if you have waited thousands of years to confess your feelings, a few more days to act on them seems like no time at all).

o~o~o

The first time they held hands in public was a revelation. No more hiding, not from Heaven, not from Hell, nor from humans or each other. If anyone had asked them what freedom felt like, they would have said it was just this, holding hands on a sunny day strolling through St. James' Park.

o~o~o

The first time they _touched_ was the first time they lost control. Neither of them did mind in the least. (Crowley had been terribly afraid to hear a _You go too fast for me_ once more, but as soon as he understood that he wouldn't, not this time, it enabled him to let go in a way he hadn't thought possible until then.)

Afterwards, they lay tangled in the white sheets (and each other, for that matter), wings spread out under their bodies. It was an act of concentration to keep them hidden all the time, a question of will that had simply slipped their senseless minds.   
Aziraphale hadn't even noticed at first, too captured in the overwhelming sensation of Crowley practically enveloping him that he had lost all consciousness for anything that happened outside the wonderful bubble that was his hands and his lips and his tongue. It had burst though when the demon suddenly stopped with whatever exquisitely wicked thing he had been doing to stare down at him, and Aziraphale, slowly gaining back some of his senses, had followed his staring eyes to the place beside his own head where the bed was suddenly covered with flawlessly white feathers. He'd felt the heat creep up his neck when he understood what had happened, but the embarrassment about such an open demonstration of lacking self-control had been quickly washed away by the no less obvious love and admiration shining from the demon's eyes as he gazed at him. Those golden eyes closed then, Crowley's features twitched slightly before relaxing completely again, and with that, his own wings had unfolded above them, darker than even the night sky outside and shimmering bluish in the moonlight that fell through the curtains. The angel marvelled at the play of colours, the familiar yet totally different way they looked compared to his own, and without even thinking about it, he reached out and lightly stroked over one of the soft shiny feathers. Crowley closed his eyes and groaned at the touch, causing Azirapahle to wake from his trance with a little flinch of shock, pulling his hand back swiftly in fear that he might have hurt him.   
Their wings were the part of their incorporation that represented their very souls, the core of their being. Having them touched by anyone would have been a highly unpleasant if not painful experience. Usually.  
But to the angel's astonishment, the demon sighed contently and leaned further down, inviting him to bury his fingers in the beautiful black feathers once more. There was nothing erotic about it, just inconceivable, plain intimacy in its purest form.

If it was the _right_ person.

o~o~o

The first time Crowley officially _stayed_ was about two months later. It seemed pointless to live in two different places, felt more like _pretending to_ , for he slept at Azirapahle's every night anyway. He considered it one of his bigger achievements that the angel had taken to actually sleep at night now, as well. It was new to him and it needed some getting used to, but by now he had discovered its merits. Crowley himself had never fallen asleep so quickly and easily than with the sound of Aziraphale's steady breathing in his ears and the angel's arms wrapped around him from behind. (Even though his night attire had made the demon roll his eyes. Dressed in his usual long black silk-pyjamas, he had expected Aziraphale in something like an awfully long white nightgown with old-fashioned lace beading or something - probably matching his pillows, even - but far from it. "You know I love you", Crowley had said, laying eyes on the angel for the first time, reading in bed, "therefore I can accept the tartan shorts (matching the _other_ pillows, because of course they did). But as you're wearing nothing else, do you really think that nightcap (also tartan, _obviously_ ) is necessary?" Aziraphale had looked at him quite reproachfully. "Of course it is, dear", he had announced as if he couldn't believe he had even asked. "It has a tassel!")

It hadn't taken very long to bring everything over from Crowley's apartment, few things as he possessed, and even fewer he actually cared about. The drawing of Mona Lisa, the statue with two angels being extremely occupied with _something_ (Crowley had heard how Aziraphale had inhaled sharply when he presented it to him, muttering an _Oh dear_ under his breath that caused the demon to grin to himself), and his answering machine. Aziraphale had a telephone of his own, but Crowley had been surprisingly insistent on keeping this particular one. It was old, comparing to other technology Crowley owned, and as he cleared a space for it to sit next to his own with the good old dial, Aziraphale silently wondered that it hadn't been replaced by the usually so up-to-date demon (He wouldn't have anymore though had he known that the reason for Crowley's fondness was that the tape contained countless messages left by a certain angel over the course of several decades that had never been -and never would, if he could help it- deleted). But most important were his plants, of course. Crowley smiled every time he looked at one of them standing in a sunny spot on Azirapahle's window sills (or on the ground, though most of _that_ space was already occupied with piles and piles and _piles_ of books). He would have liked for them to have a room of their own, but the small bookshop with a cosy flat above didn't have that many rooms to begin with, and certainly none that would have fulfilled his meticulous standards concerning lighting and temperature, and the angel insisted on keeping miracles down to absolute necessities as not to attract any more attention from one of their Headquarters. The picture of a greenhouse quickly flashed through the demon's mind, nicely attached to an actual house with a library for Aziraphale to read and store all his precious books -for he knew the bookshop had always been just for show, really-, a kitchen where he could make the angel breakfast and a big bedroom for the both of them to...- Crowley shook his head to chase the dream away. That wasn't a thought for now. (Not _yet_ , at least. Maybe one day. Maybe.) For now, he was happy being increasingly infuriated as he watched how the atmosphere of fear and terror he had created in his plants with such dedication over years was slowly but steadily crumbling by his angel whispering words of praise and encouragement to them whenever he thought Crowley wasn't looking ( _"Oh, aren't you looking lovely today?", "Just keep growing. You're doing so well, my dear", "Who's the most beautiful flower? You are!"-_ And yes. Some of them had actually started to _bloom._ Especially those species that were _absolutely not_ supposed to).

o~o~o

The first time Aziraphale heard him talk about the Fall, it was late evening, after one or two (or three) bottles of their favourite red wine, both of them slouched in the backroom of the bookshop like they had done so often before the Armageddon't. The conversation had started light and carefree, but whatever it had been that made them lead it in this direction, they finally arrived at a topic the angel had never before dared to question Crowley about.

"Did...did it hurt?", Aziraphale couldn't help but ask. He hadn't meant to, afraid of the answer and the pain it would possibly bring the demon to remember it, but it slipped from his (not completely sober) lips. He grasped for the words, but couldn't pull them back.

"Hm", Crowley hummed, raptly watching the ruby liquid swaying around in his glass when he tilted it from one side to the other.

"It did", he said then, voice barely above a whisper. "Felt like...burning alive. Guess that's how She takes the wings", he added thoughtfully, still lost in the sight of the glass in his hand. "Always wondered why mine were just burned black..."

Aziraphale swallowed hard. He'd expected that it would hurt. At least he'd expected that any kind of sensation would be involved, and anything other than pain seemed rather out of place for the...occasion. Still, to hear it spoken was a totally different matter. After all, the expectation of an unpleasant event was nothing against its final certainty. He could feel his heart contracting painfully at the thought of what Crowley, his sweet lovely demon, must have gone through, what had been done _to_ him. Pity, anger, sorrow and various undefinable emotions rushed through him all at once and he had to avert his eyes for a moment.

"And if you fall, you fall in flames...", Aziraphale muttered almost absentmindedly.

"For so it is written on the doorways to paradise", replied Crowley, sensing the angel's emotion despite his best effort to keep them under control.   
"Don't pity me, angel", he said softly, a compassionate little smile on his lips, "told you, it wasn't that bad once you get used to it."

Oh, this wonderful creature, comforting him when it should have been the other way around. Aziraphale could have dissolved in gratitude that he had been blessed with his love. For a blessing it was, he was certain of it. What a gift that he would be allowed to love someone like him, someone so extraordinarily selfless and thoroughly wonderful. It simply couldn't be that anyone was blind to how much the demon deserved all the happiness Heaven and Earth and everything in between had to offer.

"You..." He trailed off, swallowed. "You know Les Misérables?", he asked then (surprised that the demon answered his quote with one out of the same song - _Stars)_ , clutching at the only safe straw he could find in the sea of dangerous questions his head was running the risk of drowning in.

"'Course I do. Big fan of that Redmayne boy, me", the demon said, taking a sip of his wine.

"Oh", Aziraphale managed a shaky laugh. "Yes, he's lovely."

Silence fell over the room, nothing to be heard besides the ticking of the old clock and an occasional sip of wine. Crowley's thoughts wandered. They wandered somewhere he absolutely didn't want them to go, but he couldn't stop them in their tracks. No, he hadn't meant to fall. But it hadn't been too hard for him either. Hell was a fucking dump, but being a demon on earth had suited him quite nicely in the end. Maybe he'd even had a talent for it.   
But Aziraphale...Aziraphale would be perished by it, he was sure. He had never been like his angel, not even before the Fall - all kindness and willingness and faith. Aziraphale was so uniquely _good_ , even among angelkind, he was the best of them all, for sure, and Crowley shuddered at the thought that those bastards above would try to destroy that wonderful personality because they hated him for simply being who he was (Maybe it was jealousy, maybe they just didn't understand it, understand him. Crowley wasn't sure, but either way, he was determined to never allow any of them to lay hand on his angel ever again.)

"I'm never going to let that happen to you, angel", he heard himself say into the silence after a while. The angel stirred in his armchair.

"E-Excuse me?"

"I'm never going to let them do that to you", Crowley said. "Make you fall."

"Oh. That's..." Aziraphale gave him an insecure smile. "I very much appreciate the sentiment, but I'm afraid that's not in your hands, my love." His voice was so impossibly soft and full of grateful understanding, it drove right into the demon's soul.

"I'd find a way."

Aziraphale felt a new wave of love and affection wash over him. His dear, stupid demon...   
And with a sudden burst of realisation, he discovered in slight shock that he _would_ indeed fall for him. He'd never been more afraid of anything in his life, but if that was what it took in order to keep Crowley, he would even take the Fall. The thought was frightening and alarming and irrefutable and absolutely self-evident. Of course, he would. He _would_. But he wouldn't have to.

"You won't have to", the angel said, not quite sure where his own certainty originated. "I won't fall."

The demon's brow furrowed.

"You sound...quite sure about that."

"I am", Aziraphale smiled. "This has been going on for such a long time and nothing happened", he explained. "I have loved you for thousands of years and nothing happened, darling."

Crowley didn't look convinced.

"But _they_ didn't know", he said, his tone leaving no doubt about who he meant. "Now they probably do. And I saw the way they treated you up there", he pressed out between clenched teeth, feeling the anger rise in him at the mere memory. "Wasn't much better than in Hell, really."

"Well...yes.." Aziraphale wrung his hands in his lap, his body still caught in the nervous habit, refusing to speak ill of the other angels without showing his unease. "I mean...Gabriel is not...you know, no big fan of me, but-"

"They were _cruel_ , angel", Crowley interrupted him, his voice so dripping with venom that Aziraphale wondered he didn't have his fangs out. "When I was there, in your body. I'm used to it, but knowing that it was actually _you_ they were treating that way..."

He let the sentence hang dangerously in the thick air between them, and Aziraphale knew he was right. Deep down, he knew. He could feel it. He wished he wasn't still too much stuck in his nature so he could have agreed openly. He would, at some point. Just...not yet.

"Anyway, love, it doesn't matter anymore", he said evasively instead. "They're up there and we're here. They won't bother us anymore."

Crowley pressed his lips together doubtfully, slightly shaking his head in distress.

"If they find us..."

"They won't."

" _If_ they do." He fixated the angel with his golden eyes, silenced him with the intensity of his stare. "I won't let them hurt you anymore. I promise."

The angel's eyes had gone wide at his serious tone, but now they softened again, transformed into the eyes Crowley knew so well and loved to see directed at him.

"Is this about the Fall again?", Aziraphale asked cautiously. "I told you I won't-"

"You don't know that."

"Well, actually..." The angel gave him a strange smile. "I kind of do. I feel it."

"You... _feel_ it?"

"Yes." Aziraphale nodded with a certainty that was absolutely incomprehensible to Crowley. "I mean...it was never about them. Gabriel, Michael, Uriel and all the others...No matter how much they might..."(he swallowed as if merely speaking the word was a physical challenge, and maybe it was) "resent me. They don't make these decisions. It's just Her who counts in the end. And She knew me to be in love with you all that time. She always knows."

Crowley stared at him, unsure if he was an idiot, to be pitied for his unreasonable gullibility, or rather admired for this irrefutable belief in everything that was good in this world.

"You still...you still trust Her completely, don't you?"

The angel shrugged his shoulders almost apologetically.

"I've...I've never faltered. In my faith", he confirmed. "I mean...not concerning Heaven, obviously. But I still believe in _Her_. And Her.."

"Ineffableness?"

Aziraphale chuckled.

"Well...yes. I always have", he said with the calm certainty of someone that explains an unchangeable fact. "Actually....", his brow furrowed pensively, "don't you think it's possible that this... _we_...is all part of the plan?"

" _The_ plan?" Crowley arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him. With all due respect to his faith and everything, but this was ridiculous. "Come on, angel."

"No, no really, Crowley", Aziraphale sat up a little straighter, nodding as if more to himself. "I think it could. She must have known what we felt for each other after all. And never said a thing about it. She was the one who told all Her creation to love each other in the first place, wasn't She? Just the way She loves every single one of Hers..."

"Not me." The words tumbled from Crowley's lips. _Shit_. He hadn't meant to return to that topic. Well, fuck. Too late now. The angel's eyes were already staring at him in shock.   
"Demons, you know", he explained therefore, voice quiet. "I lost it. When I fell."

"Do you miss it?" The question was barely above a whisper. Crowley felt himself nod.

"Yeah. I did. Do. But I don't need it", he said (was it to convince the angel or rather himself? He didn't know) and took a big gulp of red wine. "I have you."

"Don't say that." The demon's head shot up to the angel's face, full of concern. "Yes, you _do_ have me, Crowley. Always and forever", he assured him and Crowley relaxed slightly. "But we all need Her love, too", he went on. "We wouldn't even exist without it. Nothing would."

"Still. Demon." Crowley shrugged his shoulders, failing to appear light-hearted, though. "Fallen from Grace, right? It's practically in the job description", he tried to joke in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but Aziraphale didn't jump on it. Instead, he saw the angel's bottom lip quiver slightly.

"But you...You're not- " ( _not a very good demon_ , it lay on his tongue. Crowley had never appreciated being told so, but it was true. He was a very good tempter, for sure, but a very bad demon nevertheless. Far too caring, that man... And most importantly, because he _chose_ to be. Aziraphale knew of the potential fury and bitterness pent up inside of him, the questionably-healthy therapy that was the plants - he had walked in on the demon once during one of those yelling sessions, witnessing a side of him he had never seen until then, and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since. Crowley was far from incapable of being a truly demonic nightmare, but the way he had decided to channel these emotions that had been torturing him for so long was what made him special. He hadn't asked to be a demon, but he had chosen what _kind_ of demon he wanted to be.)  
The angel's voice sounded rough with held-back tears by now and Crowley followed the urge to lean over and take his hand. Aziraphale's mouth twitched in a little grateful smile.  
"I can't believe that", he said, shaking his head vigorously, squeezing the demon's hand tightly. "Not in your case, my love, I just can't believe that anyone...that _She_ would think you unworthy of love, I can't."

"Thank you, angel." Crowley smiled at him lovingly, hoping to soothe him.

"She's not that cruel", Aziraphale continued (probably to convince them both). "She didn't even punish me for disobeying Her with that sword matter, you remember?", he said, desperately clutching at straws. "Didn't even bring it up again..."

Of course Crowley remembered. He also remembered that he had spoken a prayer about it. Asking her to be lenient with the angel who had fascinated and impressed him so much with this act of courage on kindness. But obviously, Aziraphale didn't know that. Crowley wasn't even sure if it was any good, didn't even know if She still heard him at all, but decided it was worth a try.

She _did_ hear him. Actually, She'd heard him many many times over the millennia. Although never deliberately, after that first prayer. Demons weren't supposed to pray. Absolutely not. But Crowley had. He didn't know, though. It had been rather unconscious lines of thoughts, wishes for the angel's safety when they were apart, hopes that they would meet again soon, pleas that he wouldn't be able to make out the waves of love Crowley was sure he emitted every time they were together, begs that he wouldn't understand what they were and what they meant. In fact, God's inbox was so ridiculously overflowing with prayers spoken inwardly by a certain demon that She couldn't help but become... _intrigued_ by this relationship blooming between the most unlikely of friends. She watched them. She smiled to herself. She shook her head about their idiocies. And She listened to every word either of them spoke to Her about the other.

"You know what _I_ think?", the demon said calmly after a while, "Maybe you're right. About the plan."

Aziraphale's eyes lit up in hopeful surprise.

"Really?"

"Mhm..." Crowley nodded, astonished himself that he actually meant it. "Free will...", he muttered as if more to himself, eyes locked on their hands. "Always considered it a human thing. But now I rather believe it's about _all_ Her creation." He looked up at Aziraphale's face once more to find it full of (he didn't find any better word to describe it) awe.   
"Maybe we're not as set in our ways as we think", he said slowly. "Maybe we can still choose sides. Maybe it's not all defined by our nature. Maybe we can change and...and still follow Her will."

"Yes", Aziraphale whispered, the corner of his mouth curling in a crooked smile of fascination. "I guess we can...And we have. Changed. And chosen."

"Yes, angel." Crowley smiled back at him, an honest smile, full of future promises. "Yes, we have."

o~o~o

The first time Crowley started thinking about asking him he had immediately felt like a fool. Why was he even considering it? It was nonsense. Just a human way to show their feelings. He and Aziraphale didn't need that. All the stupid ceremonial, all that exhausting and totally unnecessary fuss that usually came with it. And what for? A piece of paper. 

But it was not just that, was it. It was about commitment. Love. Belonging. 

And _declaration_. 

That was the tempting part. He felt silly for feeling this way, but after having to hide his emotions for what was a tremendous and positively _intolerable_ amount of time, he didn't feel quite satisfied with just Azirapahle knowing at last. (Don't get me wrong, finally -even though accidentally- revealing his feeling and finding them _oh-so-inexplicably_ returned had made him so happy he felt sick, but his heart just didn't seem to be sated.) 

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was too much to ask. Maybe he should have just taken what his angel was able and willing to give and thank the lo- thank _someone_ that he would be granted anything at all. He was sure he should have been. And he tried. But the feeling that there was still more to explore, more to give and to receive in return, more worlds you could only discover _together_ kept preying on his mind, not giving him a moment's peace. 

He was at war with himself. Mind against heart. Sense against sensibility (Crowley shuddered at that. He really shouldn't have let Azirapahle read those silly romantic novels to him, no matter how much the angel admired the works of that Austen-person. It was clearly getting the better of his demon-ness). 

Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He would let the thought go, he decided. No matter how much he might secretly want to climb the top of a hill to scream his love for the angel out for the whole world to hear. (What was wrong with his brain today? He was not bloody Julie Andrews, for goodness' sake! Ok well, he did have a soft spot for Mary Poppins -might even have been inspired by her once or twice- but it really ended at the Sound of Music!)

But no. He would contain himself. He was happy. _They_ were happy.   
Everything was as it should be.

And marriage was a fool's game, anyway. Problem was, he rather felt like one himself.

o~o~o

The first time they spoke about leaving London, it had started off as a joke, merely. Never would the demon have thought that Aziraphale would jump on the idea, believing him to be far too attached to his bookshop.

"It's just a building, dearest", his angel had said softly when he told him so. "Everything we need is each other. And the books, obviously." Crowley had joined him in his grin at that. "And the plants", Aziraphale added. "But we can take all that with us wherever we go."

And the thing was, they _could_. They didn't need to be available for their Headquarters anymore, didn't need to keep in touch, didn't need to wait for orders and go when and where they were told. They could go wherever they wanted. 

So they did.

o~o~o

The first time they laid eyes on the cottage, Crowley knew that it was meant for them. It was just what he had imagined not so long ago at that moment in the bookshop, greenhouse and all. The reddish-brown brick walls were partly overgrown with roses that climbed up the facade to wind around the white lattice windows. Two of them on the second floor were gable windows, pointedly tapering towards the dark grey tiled roof. A little brick chimney at the left, brown wooden door and tufts of fragrant lilac lavender below the windows on each side. There even was a pond not too far off behind the house, one side half covered by a willow tree that let his branches lazily trace over the water to move its surface. Next to it, a bank. And the best thing: it used to be visited by ducks! (Which was especially practical as the mystery of them having ears or not still remained unresolved to Crowley.) It was almost as if the environment had exactly known what they required and created it in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible.

The other couple who had been interested in the property had _miraculously_ withdrawn their bid and the demon couldn't help but suspect that a certain someone he knew might have had his divine fingers involved somehow.

"You didn't...help things along a bit?", he asked the angel casually just after they'd been told that the cottage would be theirs within a month. "By any chance?"

Aziraphale looked up from his book, little reading glasses slipped down the back of his nose to reveal two blue eyes that looked far too guilty for the innocent tone of his voice. "No. Of course not. I told you we were done performing miracles."

"Yeah, sure." Crowley smirked to himself, but said no more, just throwing an amused glance at the slightly unsettled angel as he tried to concentrate at the page of his book once more. (Of course it had been just luck that the other potential buyers had suddenly been _blessed_ with an unexpected inheritance which oh-so-fortunately involved a building. Sure. Totally plausible.) To be honest, the fact that his angel obviously considered the cottage so perfect that he had even been tempted to contravene his own rule made it all the more enticing to the demon.

Now it was all theirs, anyway. Their own personal little Garden Eden, if you will.

o~o~o

The first time it happened at the cottage was almost eight weeks after they'd moved in.

"Aziraphale!"

Crowley darted out of his sleep, panting for air he didn't need, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He used to have nightmares of his Fall, but a different moment had taken its place for some time now. However, it had been months since the last time the memories had bubbled to the surface to torture him.

His gaze flit frantically through the darkness as if he expected to see the room illuminated by flames that tried to consume everything he loved, but all his night sight could make out was the calm bedroom and -his breath hitched in his throat as he tried to suppress a sob- Aziraphale beside him, rubbing his eyes as he tried to chase the drowsiness away. Crowley's eyes watered, but if it was the smoke he could still feel stinging in his eyes or the sheer relief that washed over him at the angel's sight, he couldn't tell.

"Oh, thank _God"_ , he breathed out, not caring that the word burned on his tongue. And before he knew what he was doing, he leapt forward and kissed the angel forcefully, desperate to get rid of the taste of ash in his mouth, the lingering smell of burning pages - and to replace them with _Aziraphale_ instead (for it wasn't _angel_ he soaked in, the usual smell of cleaning products that almost stung in your nose, especially for demons - Aziraphale smelled like old books and tasted like cocoa, and it was the most heavenly thing that had ever filled his senses). A new wave of almost sickening relief overwhelmed him when he felt the echo of his nightmare fade away as he breathed and drank the angel's presence in (very much there, very much alive and very much _his_ ), although he could still feel an uncomfortably tight feeling in his entrails - the shock, anger and pain stuck down to his very bones just like the day it had occurred. 

Crowley panted heavily when he finally released the quite overridden angel, who blinked several times as if to orientate and process the situation.

"Sorry." The demon shrugged guiltily at the picture, realising that he hadn't even given Azirapahle time to understand what was happening before he practically attacked him.   
"I needed-"

"Shush, it's alright." The angel's eyes had cleared by now, his soft gaze lingering on Crowley's troubled features with the understanding warmth that was a better comfort to the demon than anything else. "Whatever you want, whatever you need." Aziraphale took his hands, stroking the back with his thumb. "If I can offer it, it's yours to take. You never need to apologize", he said sincerely, managing a smile despite the obvious worry behind it.

Crowley just pressed his lips together in a thin line, afraid that the sobs that were trying to find a way out of his throat would escape if he spoke right now. This had happened too many times already, and still, it was as bad as the very first. 

"The bookshop?", Aziraphale asked knowingly and Crowley nodded.

"Deep breaths", he said softly, wrapping an arm around the demon's shoulders and stroking up and down his arm. It was only then Crowley realised he was trembling. The angel breathed a kiss to his temple, trying to steady and soothe him. "I'm here."

"I know." Fuck, was that his voice? It sounded wretched and sore.

"Everything's fine", Aziraphale mumbled, voice muffled by red hair. "We're safe." 

They remained like that for a while, demon leaned against angel, who never loosened his hold on him, wrapping him in his presence like a warm comforting blanket. Crowley closed his eyes and concentrated on their breathing until his racing heart had calmed and adapted to Aziraphale's steady rhythm. 

"Would you..." The demon swallowed down his sore throat. "I think I'm gonna go down for a moment", he managed then, overcome by a sudden desire _to make sure_. "Just...see that everything's there", he explained quietly. "The books. The furniture, you know. I just- " He tilted his head to look up at Aziraphale. (He knew his pleading eyes would allow the angel to read him like an open book, a state of vulnerability that was totally undemonic, but he simply didn't care.) "Would you come with me?"

"Of course, darling." 

They made their way down the spiral staircase, the sound of their bare feet on the wooden steps sounded louder than usually in the darkness. Crowley clutched at his angel's hand as if it were the only thing anchoring him to this reality in the realm of awakeness, followed him from room to room, through the corridor, library, living room. Had any other than Aziraphale witnessed the sighs he didn't manage to suppress every time he spotted another thing securely sitting in its place (although he'd seen it burn only moments ago), it would have been horribly embarrassing. _(I'm-_ , he had begun after the worst one, seeing the worn-out couch and armchair neither of them had had the heart to part with when they moved, only to be cut off by a firm but empathetic _Don't you dare say you're sorry!_ )

"Better?" Crowley nodded. 

"Yeah." He sounded more like himself, too.

"Anything else I can do for you?", his angel asked, caring as always. "Perhaps a cup of tea?"

"Tea would be nice, thank you." Aziraphale smiled and squeezed his fingers before letting go and walking towards the kitchen. Crowley remained where he was, unsure what to do with himself now that he didn't have a hand to lead him anymore. 

"I...erh..." He heard a cupboard opening from the other room, the tinkling of china on the worktop. "I'm gonna take a look at the plants", he called then, speaking the first thing that came to his mind, "now that I'm already down here..."

"That's a good idea, my love", Aziraphale answered with a smile in his voice and Crowley somehow managed to bring his feet to move.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the greenhouse was that the plants didn't tremble. The angel must have sneaked in and complimented them again...but no. It looked like some of them...yes...some _waved_ at him. At _him!_ What the-?  
And then he realised that he hadn't terrorized them in a while. He hadn't shouted for months. Crowley felt a smile spreading across his face, despite his still agitated nerves. He hadn't even realised it, hadn't thought about it. Because he simply didn't _need_ to. (It had never been something he did because he enjoyed it very much. It was more that he felt it his duty as a demon, and his only way to catalyze his feelings.) And that was what had changed. The feelings that needed to be let out...were gone. Well, maybe not _gone_. They were more like wounds that kept bleeding again and again, but at least the dagger had been pulled out at last. The feelings weren't being _fed_ anymore. And the wounds, he discovered, had started to heal, his angel's love like a balm to ease the pain, his kisses sucking the venom out of his system, his hands soothing his aching body and his voice slowly but steadily filling the holes in his soul.

The nightmares would vanish too. Time would heal it all. Yes. Time and love.

"Honey?" 

"Hm?" Crowley turned around to find Aziraphale standing in the doorframe. "What is it, angel?" 

Aziraphale bit his lip, apparently trying to suppress an amused smile.

"Do you want honey? In your tea?", he asked, eyebrows raised fondly.

"Oh." Crowley could feel himself blushing furiously (usually the angel's part, which didn't help _at all.)_ Fuck, he had mistaken the question for one of Aziraphale's various and embarrassing pet names. And worse. He had just taken it. Hadn't even rolled his eyes or anything. _Urgh_... (Crowley dragged an imaginary hand over his face.)

"Yes, thanks, angel", he said between gritted teeth, noticing how Aziraphale's mouth twitched again before he turned around to the kitchen with two already waiting cups. 

They took the tea with them, deciding to return to the bedroom as it was still the middle of the night and they had gotten rather used to sleeping (to a degree that especially Crowley sometimes tended to forget that he didn't actually need to). As soon as they both settled on the mattress, Crowley cuddled close to his angel once more (although if anyone asked, he would have denied vigorously that demons did anything like cuddling, _ever_ ), his arms and legs wrapped around Aziraphale as tightly as he dared without squeezing him too much.  
 _(Crowley, your serpent is showing..._ , thought the angel, but he just silently smiled to himself.) With his head on Aziraphale's chest, the skin comfortably cool to his agitated nerves, the demon breathed out and tried to make his tensed body finally relax. 

"It's alright, my love, I'm here", whispered the voice he loved more than any other in the universe as if Aziraphale had read his thoughts. "You can let go now, Crowley, I have you." Soft careful fingers stroked soothingly through the stands of his hair.   
"I'll catch you." It was barely a whisper, but the words crept under his skin and into every vein of his being and he knew he wouldn't dream anymore. At least not tonight, and a long time after. "You're mine", his angel told him and _yes_ , answered his heart, _yes, take me, possess me, please, I'm all yours._

"I've always been", he mumbled (like a complete idiot, and totally at ease with it), already halfway dozing off.

"I know, dearest." Aziraphale breathed a soft kiss to his forehead. "I know."

The tea stood on their nightstands - warm, steaming and completely forgotten.

o~o~o

The first time Crowley actually did want to ask him, it didn't go as planned.

He hadn't meant to when he woke up that morning. He'd woken to the sun falling through the curtains as always, his angel still in bed next to him (very much awake and very much engrossed in the pages of _Northanger Abbey_ ), he'd mumbled a good morning (to which Aziraphale couldn't help but point out that it was almost half-past twelve), had snuggled up at his side for a while and then got up to find a prepared breakfast tray on the kitchen table. 

They had been happily settled in their new home for almost five months now (though the demon still remembered his back hurting like a bitch from carrying all those blasted books - he didn't think a bit of paper should be allowed to be this damn heavy- while Aziraphale and his angelic strength had been happily whistling with twice as many boxes in his arms. But he didn't complain, for the angel had known to make sure that all the tension faded from his sore muscles afterwards...)   
And it had been such wonderful five months. Five months of lying in bed until the smell of pancakes woke him, of strolling around, feeding the ducks, dozing with his head in Aziraphale's lap while the angel read a book, his fingers combing soothingly through Crowley's hair...

Everything was absolutely and utterly perfect.  
Or it should have been. If there wasn't this _thing_ on Crowley's mind still. He'd put it off. He'd wanted to banish the thought for good, but deep down he knew he'd just been putting it off. Because it had been too early, because they had just started to find out how this new sort of relationship worked, because they had just moved in together, because there wasn't enough time, because it wasn't the right time, because they were busy. He knew he had been making excuses. How pathetic, really. Now even _that_ had been taken from him. There was no reason whatsoever to put it off any longer. 

Or well, there _were_ reasons. Reasons like fear and nerves and this whole thing being nothing but one big embarrassing foolish nonsense. 

He'd managed to put the thought aside once more. For exactly five hours and forty-six minutes, that was. 

Then they were sitting in their favourite cafe for some lunch, and it kept creeping back in his mind to attack and capture him (quite like the serpent had sneaked around the Tree of Knowledge, if you thought about it).

Getting into a quite heated discussion with Aziraphale about nothing of importance had distracted him for a while, but only to be hit by a new even stronger wave of longing and panic once they got into the car.

The car. His _faithful_ Bentley. It had almost given him away, the treacherous bastard.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a little bit, my dear?", the angel had asked when he noticed the sounds coming from the radio.

"Nrgk", Crowley growled unintelligibly.

 _Love of my life, you've hurt me..._ , Freddie's voice howled in the background.

"It was just a discussion, love", Aziraphale said with a little amused twitch in the corner of his mouth. "We can't always agree, you know? It's quite natural that we don't, actually."

"Yeah." Crowley nodded, eyes fixed on the road, fingers clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white. "I know. 'm fine, angel."

_You've broken my heart and now you leave me..._

"Doesn't sound like it", Aziraphale pointed out quite unnecessarily, throwing a concerned glance at the radio.

_Love of my life can't you see..._

He couldn't. Crowley _prayed_ that he couldn't see. The last thing he needed right now was that the angel came behind what was really troubling him.

"It's nothing", he said, teeth clenched together a bit too tightly. 

_Bring it back, bring it back_ , the music answered as if to mock him in his poor attempt of concealment, _don't take it away from me because you don't know what it means to me..._

"Hm", Aziraphale hummed, watching the demon's profile.   
"Crowley...", he said then, slowly, cautiously, "you do know there's nothing that would make me leave you, right?"

He could hear how the demon sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, his hands grabbing the wheel even more tightly, if that was possible (in both an attempt to calm himself and to keep the Bentley from skidding on the road).

Crowley swallowed.

_Love of my life, don't leave me..._

"Of course", he pressed out, as if the angel had not just addressed his worst fear. "Yeah. Sure." (Mhm. Veeeery convincing.)

"Good", said Aziraphale softly. "It's just because...you know..."

_You've taken my love, you now desert me..._

"Oh, don't listen to that", the demon growled. "I don't know why that's playing, anyway", he lied. "Let's just skip it, shall we?"

He practically slammed his finger on the button, only to hear in horrification that the next song on the list was _Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy_. He pressed the button again. No better. He skipped through _Somebody To Love_ , _You Take my Breath Away_ and _Made in Heaven_ inthe speed of light before he turned the music off completely, hoping that Aziraphale hadn't recognized any of them (and he didn't trust his car in the least not to play _The Wedding March_ next...)

When they finally arrived at home, Crowley knew that this would certainly not do. 

He would have to go through with it or this would probably never stop. It had been buried in the back of his mind all that time, burning and scratching and waiting to be brought out in the light. So yeah, unnecessary foolishness and everything be damned, he simply had to. 

"Angel?"

"Hm?" Aziraphale looked up from whatever poor old book he had saved from the fate of being thrown away for equal reasons of mould spots and the sheer boringness of its contents (unless you were terribly interested in the various versatile -and tedious- ways to roll up and unravel a spool of thread, with explanations about their usage, advantages, difficulties and everything). The angel, however, seemed to be convinced that there was no word written down on a page that was not worth worshipping by giving it a new cover and a nice place on a shelf. 

"Would you care for a walk?" 

The angel's face lit up.

"Sure", he said quite enthusiastically. "Duckpond?"

"Duckpond."

On the way there, the angel had held his hand. They used to do that regularly now, and Crowley found it more thrilling and soothing than he cared to admit, but today, he had to work a quick miracle to prevent his palm from sweating and giving him away.

Although everything about him probably did. He must have seemed to behave very strangely, but he couldn't help it. He found himself trying to occupy his hands (and his mind), brushing off imaginary dust from his leather trousers, straightening folds that were already straight. Finally, he decided to miracle himself a bag with bread for the ducks they were watching, simply to give his fingers something they could cling to. The paper rustled in his hands, and he had to concentrate not to grab it too tightly. 

"Listen, I-I wanted", he began, feeling how drops of sweat were forming on his forehead.   
Fuck, he didn't think this should be so hard. Why was he so nervous? It wasn't such a big deal.

He gulped, absentmindedly grabbing a crumb and throwing it in the lake. The little box he kept in his pocket since he had purchased it months ago seemed to become heavier by the second.

"You're doing it again, dear", Azirapahle's calm voice carried through the mist of his thoughts. He followed the angel's nod to a duck that had just swallowed a bread crust and immediately drowned (Yeah, that looked like him. Making an idiot of himself by absentmindedly killing off unsuspecting animals because he couldn't handle his stupid _feels_. Almost funny, making a duck _drown_ out of all the possibilities to-...Anyway. Back to the task at hand!)

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to", he mumbled slightly embarrassed. He really needed to pull himself together. The duck appeared at the surface again, alive, and shook the water off with a quack of indignation (fortunate that the drops slid off of its feathers like....well, water off a duck).

"W-What I wanted to say-"

"Crowley", Aziraphale interrupted his stammering, "would you be silent for a moment?"

"Oh." The demon closed his mouth, staring at the angel's profile, unsure if he should feel relieved or panic even more. "I- sure. Fine, I-I'll shut up."

"Perfect, thank you", Aziraphale just smiled sweetly, adding to the demon's confusion.   
"So..." Crowley watched how the angel took a deep breath and stretched his fingers with a mutter that sounded like _Blimey_ , though he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"I've been wanting to do something for a while now", Aziraphale said cautiously, "and I honestly run out of excuses to put it off any further, so.." He trailed off with a wry smile, stirring the demon in state of shock the words had cast on him. 

That couldn't be happening right now. His ears must have played a trick on him, surely. 

"Angel, if you-"

"Nanana." Aziraphale lifted a scolding finger, silencing him. "Shut it, dearest. My turn." 

Crowley was far too stunned (and his brain far too much of a muddled mess) to object.

"Fine, I-" Azirapahle raised his eyebrows accusingly and Crowley pressed his lips together, signalising obedience, when the angel carefully took his hand in both of his (which was _not_ helpful to clear his head in the least).

"My love, I know, this is not usual", he continued softly but determined, "but then, nothing about us is, really. And I know there's no need for it, nor do I expect you- " He paused, swallowed.  
"Wuh", he laughed lightly, "this is more difficult than I expected, ehem..." He cleared his throat, swallowed again. "You see, the thing is...that I would like to marry you."

Oh my God. Oh my _fucking_ God! Screw fucking blasphemy, this was actually happening!!

"You-" Crowley's mind had apparently decided that it no longer knew how to form full sentences. "Wha-"

"Yes, I know, I know", Aziraphale interrupted him, blushing furiously. "It's a very _human_ thing and I'm not unhappy with the way it is between us right now", he assured firmly, "not at all! It's just...the _symbolism_ of it, you know..." Crowley felt vaguely how his hand was squeezed tighter.   
"I would like everyone who looks at us to know...that you're mine." The angel bit down on his lip (the way that always made Crowley go crazy with the want to kiss him - although Aziraphale wasn't aware of that effect, of course), and glanced up at him almost shyly, waiting for him to say something. The golden eyes (not covered by glasses anymore when they were alone) only stared back at him though, such a turmoil in them that it was impossible to make out a single emotion.  
"Does that sound stupid?", the angel asked with an wry smile in the corner of his mouth, nervously shifting from one leg to the other in his seat. The insecurity and worry he emitted washed over Crowley in waves, shaking him out of his reverie, if only enough for him to speak coherently again.

"No." The demon swallowed hard. "Not at all, angel."

"There doesn't have to be a ceremony, even", Aziraphale went on, apparently trying to compensate his nerves by babbling justifications. "I'd rather there wasn't, actually. You know, that whole _"in the eyes of God"_ business..."

"Yeah.."

"But...I hoped you could wear this", he stammered, grabbing the golden ring he always used to wear at his right pinkie ever since Crowley could remember, removed it from his finger and held it out to him with a little shrug of his shoulders. 

The demon felt like his heart might explode. Could you discorporate from happiness? He certainly felt quite dizzy...

"Just... I mean you don't _have to_ , obviously", Aziraphale went on, eyes fixed on the ring in his fingers, "I just- Oh, _heavens_ _Crowley_ , are you alright, my love?"

He looked down on the dark puddle in alarm, but quickly felt his troubled features melt into a fond smile at the sight of the heap of demon next to him.

"Yesssss", hissed the black snake that lay curled up on the bench now. "'m quite fine. Thankssss." He struck with the tip of his tail. "Just...give me a- a sssecond."

Aziraphale watched in amusement how the snake closed its eyes, obviously trying to gather himself and concentrate, before it transformed into Crowley's usual incorporation again.

"Sorry", he mumbled, drawing a hand through his hair to cover up his embarrassment. "Ssseems I got a bit carried away, there..." His tongue darted out of its own accord, and he quickly covered his mouth with his hand, but to his astonishment, Aziraphale reached forward and pulled it down again, squeezing it reassuringly with such warmth in the blue of his eyes that the demon nearly lost control over his form once more.

"I'd love to", it slipped Crowley's lips. "Wear your ring, I mean...But only if you'll agree to wear mine as well", he added quickly, struggling to pull the little box out of the pocket after it had resided there for so many weeks.

 _"Yours?"_ Aziraphale looked puzzled. "But you-" Then his gaze fell on the thing the demon had finally managed to get free and his blue eyes widened.  
"Oh, _Crowley_..." His eyes flit from the demon's hand to the slits of his eyes. "So you were..."

"I wasss-", the demon hissed, broke off, cleared his throat. " _Was_ just beginning when you cut me off so _very rudely_ ." He grinned at the angel's clearly pretended huff of indignation.

"I wasn't rude!", Aziraphale contradicted him, a revealing sparkle in his eyes. "I'm _never_ rude. Rude is a four-letter word and-"

He was silenced by a mouth swallowing the rest of his sentence and immediately melted into it, a shiver running down his spine as the forked tongue ghosted over his lips. 

"Fine", Crowley grinned wider, looking down at a rather breathless angel once he had released him again. "You were... _insistent._ "

"And good that I was", replied Aziraphale, the loving smile lighting up his face in the most beautiful way Crowley could imagine. "Couldn't have let you get ahead of me. You've always been the one to take our relationship to the next step, dearest. It was my turn." 

Crowley smiled back. Nothing, he was sure, absolutely nothingcould have ruined this momen-

And suddenly, Aziraphale's smile turned into a _chuckle_. Crowley lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"What?"

"Forgive me, darling.." (The angel didn't even try to regain his composure) "but...you do look like a purse, you know."

And when the demon followed his eyes, he found his whole body covered in snakeskin leather.

He couldn't help it. He laughed as well. 

When they returned to their cottage that evening, both with a ring they hadn't been wearing when they got up that morning, they were met with the sound of music (pun intended) welcoming them out of the living room. The gramophone was playing (one of those King songs again, of course, Aziraphale realized), even though none of them remembered to have put on a record. 

_I was born to love you with every single beat of my heart,_ the familiar voice sang.  
 _Yes, I was born to take care of you every single day of my life_

_So take a chance with me, let me romance with you_   
_I'm caught in a dream and my dream's come true_   
_It's so hard to believe this is happening to me_   
_An amazing feeling comin' through_

_Yes, I was born to love you every single day of my life_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, thoughts and comments very welcome, as always!


End file.
